


Let me show you (What I can do)

by JollytheSad



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Smut, They Play Pool, and then it's just sex, lots of leather jackets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6302791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollytheSad/pseuds/JollytheSad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke goes out to check out this little bar she's heard about and she definitely enjoys Roan checking her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me show you (What I can do)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sorry. 
> 
> The only person reading this after me was me so all mistakes are mine. Be sure to yell at me about them. Thank you.

This might have been a mistake. 

_This_ being going out to the little bar she's heard about on her own and getting just on the level of tipsy that turns her into a huge flirt. But Clarke is having _fun_ , despite being on her own. She's enjoying herself and the attention of a rather cute bartender. 

The bar is dimly lit and there are several pool tables, people scattered around them all tough attitude and leather jackets. Clarke's own jacket is draped over the back of the stool and there is a shot of tequila in front of her. The man who has bought the drink for her is perched on the stool to her left. He's tall, long-haired with the bluest eyes she's ever seen. He's leaning close to her, so that she hears him over the rock music that's blasting through the speakers. His deep raspy voice does _things_ to her. 

She touches his hand with the excuse of examining his rings. He smirks and his pupils get just a bit bigger. 

"Those are pretty," Clarke says and smiles. 

"Nowhere as pretty as you are, ..."

"Clarke." 

He lifts a corner of his mouth in a half-smile. "Roan." 

"Do you play pool, Roan?" 

*

Clarke is bound to lose, of course, but she notices every time Roan's eyes drop to her exposed cleavage. Her tank top barely hides her bra. She also makes sure to give him a clear view of her ass. He misses his next shot. He still wins. 

"So, does the loser pay for the drinks?" Clarke asks, looking into his mesmerizing eyes. She has to tilt her head backwards a little. 

"No," Roan chuckles. "But the winner gets a kiss." 

"Oh, really?" she cocks her eyebrow and his eyes glint with amusement. 

"Yeah. Sorry, I don't make the rules." 

She laughs, loud and bright. Then comes closer, bracing her hands on his broad chest and rises to her tiptoes. 

"Does the winner take me home, too?"

*

They ride through the city on his Harley. Clarke's skin is buzzing slightly from the alcohol and maybe she shrieks in joy once or twice. She sits pressed to Roan's back, her face full of his hair most of the ride, but the feeling of his abs under her hands is totally worth it. 

Turns out Roan lives in the outskirts of the city and that at this hour it's unbelievably quiet. They pass only an empty bus and a group of teenagers stumbling on their way from the pub. 

The building in which he lives looks old. Some graffiti lines the exposed stone. It also doesn't have an elevator. 

"Which floor?" Clarke turns to him, feeling mostly sober by now.

"Fifth." 

"You gotta be kidding me." 

"Having second thoughts?" Roan smirks.

Clarke rolls her eyes and surges forward, pressing her lips to his hot and wet.

"Here's your kiss, winner," she mutters against his mouth once she's done kissing him. "And I'm not climbing those stairs, however hot you may be." 

He only chuckles, the stupid smirk still plastered to his face. He simply lifts her up and flings her over his shoulder no problem, carrying her all five flights of stairs.

*

Roan sets her down in front of his apartment door so that he can find a key. Clarke leans on a wall, giddy smile on her lips. He opens the door in no time and lets her in first, feeling her ass up as she passes by. She waits for him to at least close the door behind them until she kisses him again, long and dirty. 

His hands come up to frame her face at first, then slowly descending to brush over her neck and finally grasp her breasts. He hums against Clarke's lips appreciatively and she sighs in response. 

Her jacket hits the floor first, soon followed by his own. They kick off their shoes. Roan bows his head down and into her cleavage, kissing the tops of her breasts, sucking on her skin. Clarke isn't even mad he might leave a mark. (Or five.)

 

Eventually he rises up again and kisses Clarke hungrily, backing her until she hits the kitchen counter. His fingers are tangled in her hair, tugging her so slightly and she sighs, pressing her hips into his. Roan pulls back, eyes hooded, smirk long gone. 

"Water?" he asks and Clarke doesn't get it at first but then she notices a sink to her left. 

"Yes please." 

Roan gives a glass of ice cold water and she presses it to her flushed cheeks before drinking. She strips of her top and bra while he's still drinking. His eyes widen. He sets the glass on the counter with a loud clink.

"Fuck." 

Clarke smirks, obviously pleased with herself. She feels his hands on her ass and suddenly she's up, locking her legs behind his back mostly on instinct. His face is between her boobs yet again and to her horror he starts walking blindly in direction that seems random to her. Fortunately, Roan lifts his head up again to navigate them into the bedroom. 

*

When Clarke sinks into the bed her chest is scattered with red marks from collarbones down. Roan sits on his heels, admiring his handiwork for a moment before shrugging off his plain grey t-shirt. Clarke's breath catches in her throat when she sees an intricate tattoo sneaking its way over toned muscles. 

Her fingers are already working on the button of her ripped jeans when he comes to help, sliding the zip open and then removing the pants and her underwear in one fluid motion. She's wet, has been for the past thirty minutes or so, and Roan must have noticed if the smug grin is anything to go by. 

"What do you want?" he rasps, voice even deeper than before and Clarke squeezes her thighs together before she can stop herself. His eyebrow shoots up but he says nothing. 

"I want your mouth," Clarke breathes out. 

"Bullshit. You want to hear my voice." 

Roan nudges her knees apart, laying down between her legs. Her runs his index finger through a patch of blonde hair before dipping between her folds. The smirk is back on his lips. 

"You're so wet for me, Clarke," he murmurs into the skin of her hip. His fingers – two now – are sliding up and down her folds, sometimes rubbing wide circles around her clit. Clarke hums, as if to confirm his words. As if his fingers weren't coated in the evidence of her arousal. 

 

Roan teases her, long, so long, until she's a breathy, whimpering _mess_. Her hands are in his hair, pressing his mouth to her centre to stop him from talking, urging him to do _something_ , to finally let her come. 

"Please," Clarke whines, her hips bucking up. His hands are keeping her from moving too much and she fucking hates it. " _Please_ , Roan." 

"Please what, Clarke?" he purrs. "Use your words." 

"Let me come," she pleads, completely broken.

He dips his head down again and lets her fuck herself on his tongue. Clarke cries out loud when the orgasm hits her, writhing under his hands and mouth. 

*

Roan kisses his way up her body, pressing his lips to her stomach, chest, neck and chin. Her breathing is loud and ragged, and it takes her a while to lean in to kiss him on his mouth. He tastes faintly of her come. 

"You seem rather overdressed," Clarke states, tugging on his jeans twice before pressing her palm to the hard length of him. 

He lets her undress him and searches for a condom in the meantime. 

"What do you want?" Clarke asks, purposely repeating his words. 

"I want you," Roan starts, placing his hands on her hips, "on top of me." He pulls her in his lap, her hot centre sitting directly on his cock. 

Clarke hums, rocking few times before rolling the condom on his length. He goes slow and careful, his hands on her hips preventing her from sinking on his cock too quickly. Clarke braces her hands on his chest, nails lightly digging in the skin. Roan lets her set a pace and it is lazy, her hips rolling in the most delicious way. 

It goes on for long minutes like this, Clarke moving on top of him in slow, almost torturous rhythm. Roan pulls her flush to his chest, running his fingertips down her bare back before flipping them over. Clarke looks up at him, eyes dark, cheeks flushed, hair plastered to her forehead. She looks fucking gorgeous and Roan tells her as much. 

Twining their fingers Roan starts to thrust into her again, her thighs bracketing his hips tightly, legs locked behind his back to allow him go deeper. Clarke's free hand is clutching on his shoulder and she's panting into his neck. It doesn't take long for her left hand to trail down her stomach and between her legs, finding her clit. 

"Are you close?" Roan whispers into her ear and oh God his _voice_. 

Clarke whines and nods urgently. 

"Okay princess. I've got you." 

His hand swats hers away and the rough pad of his thumb draws tight circles over her clit. Her voice gets higher and higher, she's moaning with every breath she takes. 

"That's it, princess, that's it. You're so close, I know. Let's get you there, I know you're desperate to come. Do you want to come, Clarke?" 

His voice is a deep husk next to her ear and she feels her walls clench around his cock, Roan groans, and she's so _close_. 

"Yes," Clarke cries out. " _Please_." 

His thumb picks up speed and his thrusts are completely out of control, shallow and hard, and then he whispers "come for me, Clarke" and she's gone. She's lost under the wave of pleasure that has her legs trembling and her hips bucking up, a single _fuuuuuuck_ spilling from her lips. 

Once Clarke comes down from her high, Roan pulls out of her heat for a moment, flipping her on her stomach and taking her from behind. When he finally comes he bites down on her shoulder. 

*

When Clarke wakes up the next morning she feels sore. Her head hurts a little but she's not sick. She sits up slowly and notices Roan standing by the door. He's wearing just a pair of sweatpants and honestly he looks better than anyone should have right to this early in the morning. And Clarke doesn't even know what time it is. 

He watches her get dressed (her clothes were folded neatly on the chair by his desk) and even offers her a breakfast. Clarke politely declines and he nods, understanding. 

"Thank you," Clarke tells him after they share one last kiss. 

Roan chuckles. He pulls a business card out of a coat that hangs by the door. 

"In case you'll want to repeat last night, give me a call." 

Clarke nods and smiles. "Goodbye, Roan."

"Goodbye, Clarke."


End file.
